


After the War

by TwilightLegacy13



Category: The Witchlands Series - Susan Dennard
Genre: Fluff, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightLegacy13/pseuds/TwilightLegacy13
Summary: A short one-shot taking place after the wars are over and everything is resolved in the Witchlands.  What can I say?  They all deserve a happy ending.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	After the War

**Author's Note:**

> At D's request, this one-shot! Well, it actually stemmed from a conversation about death jokes, but... Hope you like it!
> 
> Content warning: Lighthearted discussion of temporary death.

The scene was so similar to the Truce Summit meeting that Safi had attended what felt like an eternity ago—the bright lights, the scenery of Veñaza City through the windows, even some of the people in attendance were the same as before. It was almost enough to be worrisome, but this time there would be no Emperor Henrick trying to force an engagement, nor a rushed pretend kidnapping that would lead to the breaking of an international agreement. This time there was no abolition of a treaty, but the signing of one.

Vaness, Leopold, Vivia, and the Dalmotti Doge would officially put their names on the agreement at the twenty-third chimes, meaning that there would be another two and a half ringing of the bells before the long-awaited ceremony. The Witchlands had gone generations without peace, and while there would always be conflicts, the threat of war would be far from the horizon once the new treaty was put into action.

For now they had all the time in the world for the catching up they’d missed during battles and negotiations and seemingly endless meetings thereafter. Even Vaness and Polly had somehow managed to get away from the crowd long enough to have a brief conversation with Safi and the others.

“I can’t believe that Domna fon Brusk couldn’t be bothered to show up,” Stix complained, leaning against the wall casually. “I didn’t die so that we could have such terrible attendance at the signing ceremony.”

Ryber exhaled sharply through her nose. “You did _not_ die,” she reminded in an exasperated tone that suggested she’d said such a thing more than once. “It was a vision that you had because you picked up the glass—something I told you not to do—from one of your past lives.”

Stix shrugged. “It certainly seemed to me like I died.”

“It still isn’t funny regardless,” Vivia chimed in, glaring at Stix. “We’ve all come to close to actual death that it isn’t a light topic.”

“Come _close_ to actual death?” Merik interrupted, looking genuinely upset at the words his sister had chosen. “I think I’ve genuinely forgotten how many times I was killed over the past few months.”

Ryber blinked at him. “That…that isn’t something to be proud of.”

“It depends,” Lev said with a shrug. “How impressive were the deaths?”

Cam snickered at her question, quieting down when he saw the look on Ryber’s face. Safi herself was amused by the Sightwitch’s expression—so unsurprised by this conversation but so vastly bored of it. “All right now,” Ryber said tiredly, glancing around the group of people. “How many of us have died?”

Merik, Stix, and Kullen immediately raised their hands. After a moment, the Hell-Bards raised theirs as well. Raising her eyebrows, Safi tried to remember what it was that had happened to Stix. It was a sad thing that she was able to forget how some of her friends had died.

There was a long pause, and then Aeduan halfheartedly raised his hand too. Safi instantly stopped thinking about Stix and began to puzzle over _that_ mystery, because when had Aeduan ever died? Was it even possible for him to die? Safi had impaled him in the heart once and she was fairly certain that Iseult had too. If he could survive that, what couldn’t he survive?

“ _Seven_?” Ryber asked incredulously, looking from one person to another. “Seven of you have died? And you’re amused by it?”

Lev laughed. “Only because we all managed to come back somehow. If we were still dead I wouldn’t think it was funny.”

“Well, of course you wouldn’t,” Ryber said exasperatedly, reminiscent of how Habim used to sound when Safi went and did the thing he had just told her not to go and do. “You would be _dead_.”

“How would this work, in any case?” Kullen asked abruptly, his eyes distant like he was deep in thought. “Are we currently dead because we died once, or did returning to life eliminate our deaths? What _is_ death—is it the state of not being alive, or the state of having died?”

Silence fell as everyone tried to make sense of that. Finally, Merik said, “You can come up with a question like that but you can’t remember to not overexert your magic like I always tell you not to?”

Kullen ducked his head but didn’t retract the question.

“What do you think, Your Esteemed Glory?” Leopold asked Vaness, the mocking title earning him a glare from the empress that was death itself. “You always claim you are the cleverest of us all.”

“Make no mistake,” Vaness said shortly. “I am.”

The imperial prince grinned. “Well, then? Are they currently dead, or did they die but are alive?” When he did not immediately receive an answer, his smile widened. “Does this mean you truly have no answer?”

“No, merely that I truly do not care.” Her words rang with truth laced with the boredom of her tone, which was enough to make Safi laugh aloud. Then again, louder, and she knew that she probably sounded like a lunatic, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. It had been _so_ long since there was something to laugh about.

“I think—” Iseult stopped midsentence as somebody approached the group—someone very familiar and wearing a white Carawen cloak with the red trimmings of the Abbot. She looked out of place at the formal occasion, though whether it was because of her baldric full of weapons or because of her prominent scowl, Safi wasn’t sure.

Lizl gestured at the celebration around them, looking none too pleased with the festivities. “Whose idea was this spectacle?” she demanded, looking from Leopold to Vaness to Vivia. As the three major world leaders there, they were looked to for most of the answers tonight. “I thought the purpose of this was to sign a new treaty. How much music and dancing does it take to sign a document?”

“It was my idea,” Leopold announced to the surprise of no one. “Although the Dalmotti Guildmasters heartily agreed. The Witchlands have been at war for years, and the people want to enjoy themselves now that real peace has come. Not every event worth witnessing needs knives.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lizl scoffed. Then she noticed Aeduan off to the side, making it a point to socialize with as few people as possible. “Monk Aeduan, you never told me how you survived. Didn’t you say that you were dying?”

Aeduan nodded. “I was, and I did die before you came with the rebels to attack against Natan and the other loyalists. But that isn’t why you came here. What happened? Did the other monks—”

“ _No_ ,” Lizl interrupted, so quickly that Safi wanted to know how he would have finished the question. But knowing Aeduan and knowing Lizl, she would get aggravated silence for an answer. “The Illryian ambassador wants to speak to Iseult—something about a formal apology on behalf of his country about treatment of Nomatsis.” She rolled her eyes, cursing under her breath. Safi took it the ambassador wasn’t a favorite of hers. “It’s all ridiculous in any case, he’s only apologizing because you are the Cahr Awen. And it isn’t like I have anything to do but deliver messages.”

Judging by how little she seemed interested in the celebration as a general rule, Safi would have been willing to bet that Lizl _didn’t_ have anything else to do, but again, she was not going to say that. She might have been taught to fight well by Mathew and Habim, but that didn’t mean she was going to willingly antagonize a Carawen monk—no, the Carawen _abbot._

“I suppose I have to go.” Iseult didn’t sound thrilled about it, but she shot her Threadsister a quick smile before following Lizl back to the man Safi assumed must be the Illryian ambassador.

“It feels strange, doesn’t it?” she heard Merik murmur to his sister. “To be here in a place like this? I know that Nubrevna has trade with the nations now and we’re building our country back up, but it still feels oddly wasteful.”

Vivia looked around the room at the political figures of the continent, then down at herself. Her hands reached up to the sides of her face as though feeling to see if a mask was still there, a habit that Safi had noticed she did often. Then her fingers fell back down and she smiled.

“It _does_ feel strange,” she admitted, referring to either the scenery or the respect she was receiving or both. “But it feels wonderful.”

Stix embraced Vivia and leaned into the princess’s shoulder with just as wide of a smile. “You’re the queen now, and the people love you.”

“They really do, don’t they?” Vivia still looked shocked by it—all throughout the night, people had bowed to her and called her _Your Majesty_ with reverence in their voices. “I just can’t believe we all managed to get this far.”

“Of course we did,” Stix said slyly. “I didn’t die for all our plans to fail.”

And while Ryber shook her head and raised her eyes to the ceiling, there was no mistaking the reluctant amusement on her face, just like there was no hiding the relief in everyone’s hearts that after wars and truces and betrayals, the Witchlands had found its peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos or comments if you enjoyed it! You can find me on Tumblr at @twilightlegacy13 or @thevoidwell.


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